


Heaven is a Place on Earth

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, It makes sense I swear, Like, M/M, Simon in denim on denim, There is death, angst w happy ending, but I promise it'll be alright, but also the future, for those of you who know what that is lol, for those who don't, just imagine it (:, please enter this I swear it's happy, san junipero au, the 80s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Five hours each week. That's all Simon and Baz get.But we know that's all they need to fall in love...~~A San Junipero AU
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 63
Kudos: 102





	1. Five Hours and a Decade

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my friend Bree and [Adamarks on Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/adamarks) for reading this over for me before posting!
> 
> It's been a long time coming, so I'm glad I finally can! I hope you all enjoy <3.

**Baz**

Five hours. That’s all they give you here. It’s five hours to explore, live life, have fun. 

Fuck.

  
  


Kiss.

  
  


Drink. 

  
  


Pretend your life isn’t falling apart. 

  
  


That what you’re avoiding isn’t happening. 

You can hide here for five hours a week (they say any more and you go crazy in the real world) and experience any type of bliss you’d like.

(Mostly, it’s a lot of partying, from what I’ve seen.)

I walk into a bar after trying to decide where to go for over an hour. 

(It’s not as loud as some around here, at least.)

_The Watford_. 

I frown at the sign written in neon lights, a soft haze wrapping around the letters. It’s not a very creative name; _Watford_. 

(What does that even mean?)

I can live with it, I guess. It’s smaller, with music playing loud enough for me to hear the beat on the sidewalk. People stand outside with tights, scrunchies, over-permed hair, and cigarettes. 

I nod at them as I pass, earning a few looks as they inspect me. 

_I wonder how many of these people are lifers? How many people choose to stay here forever?_

You can do that: pass over and stay. Right now I’m here on limited time, trying it out, seeing what it’s like.

I spent the last four Saturday’s traversing the 90’s. It was denim, thin eyebrows, and grunge music. 

I saw at _least_ twelve people trying to pass themselves off as Kurt Cobain. 

(Imagine if he had lived long enough to do something like this? If _anyone_ famous would do something like this.)

_Surely famous people have a better version._

Instead of _San Junipero_ , it’s called _La Ville de Bourgeoisie._

(They probably wouldn’t see a problem with the name. They’d hear the French and find it fancy.)

I didn’t mind the flannel too much in the 90s. It kept me warm, at least, and between the flannel and the nature of my hair (black, long, hits my shoulders in a very soft wave), I was able to pull off belonging in the era fairly well. 

Tonight, however, is different. I’m in a sea of puffy sleeves, thick shoulder pads (although that bit slipped into the 90s as well), and clothes that are both too tight and too big. 

(The ’80s are such a paradox.)

In the decade I’m from, clothes are more fitted. Skinny jeans, tailored shirts or dresses, some nods to other decades, but more refined. Not that any of it’s bad, it’s just interesting to see the difference. 

I look down at what I’m wearing, making sure I didn’t accidentally dress for the 70s (I haven’t gone there yet. Maybe another weekend.) 

A light blue button-down, unbuttoned to just below my sternum. My chest hairs are out for the world to see, which I’m not used to, but it seems to fit. 

_All I can see is hair on the men around me_. 

I _know_ men have chest hair. I _know_ it.

I’m just not used to seeing it flaunted so much. 

_If I’m being honest, I feel a bit like my father._

“Excuse me,” someone mutters, bumping into my shoulder.

I frown to look at the perpetrator, but they’re already gone. 

Electronic beats drum around me as I make my way to the bar. 

I think for a moment, trying to decide if there is a stereotypical 80s drink for me to order when I see _him_. 

He’s standing at the bar, talking to someone to his left. 

_I thought I had avoided you._

(I’ve been hiding in the ’90s for so long; I forgot the risk.)

I look to see if there is another place I could potentially squeeze into. 

_Maybe the group of ladies would let me through and I could get a drink?_

Do I _really_ need a drink?

(Maybe I shouldn’t even bother. Hide in a corner and wallow in self-pity and a sea of stale bar pretzels.)

But then he makes eye contact with me.

I stand up straight and start walking toward him.

(Have to commit to it now, I guess.)

He looks away for a moment and I sneakily undo another button. 

(Be confident, and no one will be able to tell what’s really going through your head.)

Learned _that_ from my father. 

I squeeze into the space he leaves for me. 

He acts nonchalant about it, but it’s on purpose. I know it is.

(I know him.)

I lean over the counter to look for the bartender. 

_Confident, Basil_.

(Don’t let him know.)

“Hey there, long time no see,” he says in my ear.

_He can’t see it on your face._

“Hmm, what a shame that we’ve both found ourselves here,” I say, refusing to look at him. “I would have gone to the ’70s had I known.”

He scoffs.

The bartender walks over. 

I can feel him watching me.

(I ignore it though.)

I ignore _him_.

“You act as if we’ve done anything wrong,” he says, lifting his beer to his lips. 

I order a drink. 

(Whiskey, neat. Seems era-appropriate.)

“No wine tonight, Basil?” He asks, leaning to catch my glance.

I can’t look away. 

His eyes are blue.

(Boring. Dreadfully so. The cliché it is for the tall dark and broody to fall for the blue-eyed golden boy makes me squirm.)

I take a deep breath. 

No use hiding anymore.

I can’t let him know how he affects me. 

“No, if I’m to deal with you for the evening, I’m going to need something stronger.” I raise an eyebrow and look down at his chest.

Seems he has also gone with the open-top look. 

He’s got a denim button-down tucked into denim pants. His shirt is buttoned low enough to see a bit of hair (it’s curly, just like the hair on his head), the line of his collar bone, the divot in the middle of his chest.

“So you will then?” He asks.

I look back up.

“Pardon?”

“You’ll be dealing with me for the evening?” He smiles.

Where I’m smirks and raised eyebrows, he’s smiles and loud laughter.

His smile is bright. It changes the mood of a room. 

_It’s obnoxiously attractive._

“I would suppose so,” I state. “I highly doubt I have another choice when it comes to you; do I, Snow?”

He grabs his drink and my hand, leading me away from the bar to a small corner.

When he looks away I let my face relax into a smile. 

_San Junipero._

The slogan when I first was admitted (by my aunt, I’m not sure if anyone else from my family would have thought of something like this for me) was that it’s _Heaven on Earth_.

Simon Snow, leading me to a booth, rattling my ear off about some ghost hunter he met in 2004, smiling from ear to ear, touching me. 

Now _that_ is Heaven on Earth. 

______________________________________________

Simon and I met before. It was in the ’80s then (85? 89? I can’t remember; they’re starting to blend together as I spend more and more Saturdays here.), and we danced. 

It was new, _different_. 

He was a bubbly face across the room, talking a girl’s ear off. 

I never thought-

It never entered my head that I might get _this_ while here. 

(It can’t be real, right?)

He grabbed my hips and pulled me close. 

I swear I stopped breathing. Even my brain, typically running at a mileage that would make a police officer chase after me with flashing lights and sirens, stopped moving.

His hand moved to my hair.

I could feel his breath on my cheek. 

I saw a glance from my periphery and felt everything come online.

_They’re all watching_. 

They have to be.

Two guys, dancing, _touching_. 

I pulled back.

“I need to get some air,” I said, walking out of the building. I couldn’t breathe. 

I stepped out and into the alleyway beside it. I’m lucky I found one without a dumpster, no rodents, or even other people sloppily making out.

Simon found me.

(I learned quickly that he always will.)

Even when I thought I was avoiding him, he managed to find me tonight. 

“Hey there,” he said, leaning against the wall across from me.

He was beautiful then, and he’s beautiful now. 

(Though everyone is here. Even the ones who are old and choose to come here are beautiful and young. The advantage of being in a simulation such as this.)

He’s the most beautiful, though. It’s like looking into the sun. 

“Hey,” I breathed, looking down at my feet. 

It was my first weekend here. I hadn’t a clue of what it would be like. Fiona had just told me I’d love it.

She said it’d be good for me.

_Not that I responded_.

(Not that I could.)

“You alright?” He asked, kneeling to look up at me.

_Blue eyes_.

Sometimes I think of the ocean when I look at them. 

It’s calming.

It calmed me that night, and it calms me now as we sit together, Simon eating a plate of fries as I zone in and out of the conversation. 

Someone brings me another drink at one point, but I’m too busy listening to him, thinking about everything, to drink it.

“I’m fine,” I had told him.

(I wasn’t though, I felt like I was going to throw up.)

“I’m sorry if I pushed you-”

“You didn’t,” I interrupted. The last thing I needed was to hear him apologize for touching me.

He nodded in response. 

“Do you want to go back to my place?” He asks.

_I don’t remember him asking that our first night together._

“Baz?” He asks again.

I blink.

It’s not a memory that’s asking me.

It’s Simon, today (whatever that means while we are here), now.

He reaches and puts his hand on mine. 

“You don’t have to, you just seem overwhelmed,” he says quietly. 

I take a deep breath.

“It’s okay, I am too,” he laughs. “I don’t do well in big crowds.”

I raise an eyebrow in wonder.

“I’ve seen you work a room, Snow. Don’t pretend,” I say, lifting up my drink.

(The ice has melted, what a shame.)

He laughs. It’s the same loud and unashamed one he gave the first night we met. 

“I’ve seen you work one too,” he rebuttals. “Remember that weekend when we both saw each other in 1981 and there was a whole group of guys flocking around you.”

I do. (Of _course_ I do.)

But.

How does _he_ know that?

“You saw that?” I ask.

It was a scene. I wasn’t sure why it was happening. I didn’t think Simon saw. He’s usually fairly oblivious and misunderstands the signs. 

“Of course I did,” he laughs, “I always notice you.”

I open my mouth to respond but no words come out. 

_What do I say to that?_

A moment passes as I think.

“Yes,” I say, drinking the last few gulps left of my drink.

“Yes?” Simon asks, watching as I stand up, a confused look on his face. 

“I’ll go back with you.”

He blinks as I watch his brain catch up. It’s always a show, watching him piece it together. It’s like I can see all of the gears working in his head, clicking together. I wonder if he needs some oil to get them running smoother?

Once it clicks, it’s like a whirl. 

A smile.

A hand wrapped around my wrist.

Laughter and talking.

(And kissing, lots of that.)

We get into his car.

(It’s a Jeep- green and boring. But utterly Simon.)

The wind sweeps through my hair as he picks up speed, driving us both to wherever he lives. I’d be madder about it if it didn’t look so good on him.

The way the streetlights hit the top of his hair as it blows behind him. It’s like a halo above his head, glowing for the world to see.

(Aren’t the common people not allowed to look at angels?)

_Maybe that’s why I feel like my body is on fire_. 

Simon swerves into a driveway, the car bumping around violently.

(I’m thanking every deity in the wide universe that I made sure my pain slider was set to zero before I came.)

He turns off the car and jumps out.

When I open the door to step out, he’s already there, holding out a hand. 

“Hey there,” he says.

It’s quiet and cautious. The way he takes my hand as I step out and we walk to the house says everything.

_I don’t want to ruin this_.

It’s been four weeks since I’ve seen him.

Seven since we first met.

Five since we first kissed.

_Slow and soft in the ocean_.

(That’s when I ran. I was afraid.)

Afraid of him.

Afraid of the feelings.

(Of falling in love.)

I guess I’m done being afraid now. 

(Death does that to you, I guess.)

There’s four more until my decision is final.

“So, this is where you stay when you’re here?” I ask as we walk in. 

It’s gorgeous. A house on the beach with windows nearly as tall as the ceiling.

(Another perk about San Junipero is the weather. It’s always sunny and gorgeous.)

“Yeah. Figure if I’m going to live in a fantasy world for a while, I may as well have a beach house.”

He reaches out his hand, waiting for me to accept.

Simon doesn’t push or pull. Not until he’s been given permission. 

(That’s what I learned before I hid.)

Any time I’ve told him to stop, or looked uncomfortable in the slightest, he’s adjusted. 

He’s waited for me. 

It feels comfortable and safe. 

It feels so much better than what I thought any of this could be.

(Sometimes I wonder if he’s simply a figment of this world; of the San Junipero experience.)

_If so, then I don’t want it to end_.

I grab his hand and we kiss, lips moving slowly against each other, testing the waters before either of us takes it further. 

He takes a step back, not breaking the kiss. Simply taking the lead, as if we are dancing. 

I follow eagerly.

(I’m not hiding anymore.)

I feel any nerves fall away as we move closer and closer to what I presume is his bedroom. 

He removes a hand from my waist to open the door but keeps the other firm against my neck. 

I move my hands to his shirt, making him lift his arms up so I can remove it. I gratuitously allow my hands to rake up his chest as I do so.

He shivers, opening his eyes to look up at me. They’re dark, half-lidded, and utterly entrancing. 

His eyes close again as I trace my fingers down his chest again. 

Simon Snow is covered in freckles. I’d seen them on his face, but now, in the haze of his room, lit only by the moon and nearby street lights, I can see them all.

(Would I see more in the sun?)

I take my shirt off, letting him lead me to his bed.

His place is much cleaner than I’d have thought.

(I wonder if people clean for us here? If he even needs to worry about housekeeping when he’s only here for 5 hours every week.)

“Stop,” he says, leaning back.

He’s breathing heavily.

(So am I.)

“Stop what?” I reply.

“Thinking so much,” he continues, kissing me briefly. “Unless you don’t-”

“No, I do.”

I always have. It’s just my inner demons, the fear, that have kept me from it.

(From this.)

He smiles, reaching for my waist. 

“Then tell your brain to shut up.”

He kisses my cheek, my jaw, my neck.

I let my eyes close.

Down to my chest.

(I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat.) 

I take the lead, pushing us both onto the bed, allowing us to fall into a fit of soft laughter, easing any nerves still in the air.

As we continue, removing clothes, kissing, tasting, touching each other, I wonder. (I guess I always do.)

(I wonder if it could have always been like this?)

If I could have _always_ had something like this in the real world.

(This feels real. It has to be.)

A sharp inhale.

Names muttered in reverence. 

There I lie, falling more for the man at my hip. I avoided it for too long; scared of what would happen if I let it go further. Now I’m wondering if I could go back four weeks and drag Simon to the 90s with me. He’d do well, I think. Simon Snow dressed like he’s in a boyband.

(I hate to think about how well it’d work for him.)

What’s worse than thinking of time lost, when really it only would add up to less than a day together, is that I’ve no clue if he’s going to stick around or not.

I look at the clock as we fall back on the bed. We only get five hours, time ending at midnight each week.

_11:59._

It’s too close. The clock must be lying, be broken, be confused by what we are trying to do here. 

(Doesn’t it know I have a lifetime’s worth of kisses to give?)

I reach over and pull him close, letting the last minute together fall into a sea of kisses; as if this is reality and the other world is something neither of us needs to speak about.

He kisses me back with everything he has, repeating my unspoken words back. 

Everything goes dark. I can hear a faint beeping in the background.

_Until next time, Simon Snow_.


	2. Ghost in a Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon enjoy another Saturday in San Junipero. They talk about their lives outside of it, and we get glimpses of Baz's world.

**Baz**

_7:06 pm; two weeks later._

I sit on the porch looking at the beach. The sun hangs low on the horizon, letting a mix of orange, purple, blues, and pinks mix in the sky. 

Simon’s place is gorgeous. After walking through the house I realize it must automatically clean itself (or someone comes during the week we aren’t here.) There was no trace of what happened the week prior. The bed was properly made, the lamp we shattered was back on the hall table. 

(We may have been trying to make up for lost time last Saturday.)

“Hi there,” he says, handing me a cup of tea and sitting down. “What are you thinking about?”

I sigh, disappointed that he could see my worries so plainly on my face. 

I am, unfortunately.

(Thinking, that is.)

I’m getting close to passing over, and I think I’m going to stay. So much of my life has been me being stuck in one place. Family that doesn’t understand, people who expect me to be a certain way. 

Here I can live.

I look at Simon’s hand on the bench and put my hand on his. 

Here I can _love_. 

“Everything and nothing,” I respond. 

It’s true. There’s not much I can change about where we are now. I can only enjoy the five hours I have tonight. The five after that. Possibly the endless amount after I pass.

He looks at me questioningly.

“Do you think we would have been like this if we had met in the real world?” I ask, changing the subject.

I wonder if I could have found him and run away from everything. If I could have had _this_.

Simon shrugs in response.

I roll my eyes.

“Always a shrug with you,” I mutter.

He smirks and bumps my shoulder gently with his own.

“‘M not sure.”

He looks at the water washing onto the beach.

“Where are you, anyway?” He asks, putting his tea on the ledge in front of us. “Maybe we are close.”

“I’m in upstate New York.”

He smiles.

“I’m in Pennsylvania, so I’m not far.” He swings his legs out and leans his head back. His eyes close as he relaxes, pushing the swing back and forth softly. “Maybe I could come and visit you?” 

My face scrunches up involuntarily. 

“I’m afraid I won't be much fun.”

He shrugs.

“Me either,” he says.

“Really I don’t want you to come and see me and feel pity for what I look like.”

I’ve not seen it but I know it’s not _good_. 

(That I don’t look good. Though I reckon no one does in my position.)

Fiona has cried about it, so that’s all I need to know about how I’m faring. 

I don’t think I could handle seeing the look on his face afterward. It’d be puppy dog eyes and soft touches, as if I were fragile. 

(As if he’d break me.)

I don’t want to worry about how breakable I am here. I already have that reality on the outside. 

Here I’m not so easily bruised and torn apart. 

It’s refreshing. 

“Hey.” He reaches a hand to softly get me to look up at him. “I won’t pity you. If anything, you’d pity me if you saw all the stuff I’d have to come with.” 

I laugh. 

(It comes out wetter than I mean for it to.) 

_Don’t get emotional, Basil._

“Well fine then, but avoid my aunt if you can. She’s the only one who comes round anymore. She might have a lot of questions if some cute boy starts coming round.” 

He smiles.

He obviously doesn’t know Fiona Pitch.

“So you think I’m cute?” He asks, reaching for his tea.

_Ass._

“Simon, we spent all last Saturday completely destroying this home. I think it’s safe to say I’m attracted to you.” 

Truly. I was shocked to find it still standing today. 

“Good,” he responds, taking a sip and looking at me over the edge of his cup.

We spend the first hour on the porch, talking softly. The sunset ignites his skin, making him glow.

He’s always lit up; a shining beacon of light, even in paradise. 

The next hour we spend in his bed. The sheets soft against our skin, our lips rough against each other. 

The third we spend in the shower. It’s a pretense for cleaning, but not much happens. It’s water dripping down our bodies, and wondering if it ever goes cold. 

It didn’t; though I’d like to test it another time. See how long it takes for our skin to get pruney and for the shower to grow cold, spend enough time exploring each other that I can learn what makes him squirm, tick, or growl in the deep way he does when something I do feels so _right_.

The fourth on the kitchen counter. Simon, taller than me for once, bending down to kiss me as I try to make a sandwich.

(Eating be damned when Simon Snow is there, ready to be devoured.)

He did eat though. In between. Slabbed some peanut butter on bread and called it a sandwich as we ran to the porch again, bare assed and grinning like nothing in the world could touch us.

Sometimes, it feels like it can’t.

Not while we are here.

  
  


It’s the fifth hour and I’m wishing I could close my eyes and magically extend time. 

_The five hour rule is stupid_.

“How long are you planning to stay?” I ask.

“Probably go home around midnight,” he replies.

_Asshole_. 

We are lying on the beach getting sand stuck in our hair and looking up at the moon as it gets higher in the night’s sky.

I look at him, waiting for his _actual_ response. 

“I guess until I’m ready,” he says softly. 

I raise an eyebrow, unsure of what his vague response means.

_Until I’m ready._

Can anyone _truly_ be ready?

He smiles and I see the emotion in his eyes.

“I’m really sick.” He tries to keep it together, to keep a smile on his face. 

I’m never sure how old everyone is here. Everyone appears young and at the highlight of their life. It’s one of the _perks_.

(We can choose, of course. Most people choose youth.)

I always assumed Snow was younger, 20’s maybe, like me, but I think I’m getting confirmation right now.

In the way he says he’s _sick_.

It’s filled with the emotion of someone who has more than a simple virus. 

How he says _when he’s ready_.

He says it with the fear and hurt of someone too young to die.

(I know that all too well.)

“It’s spread and-” he clears his throat. “There’s not much they can do besides make sure it’s smooth and painless.”

I put my hand on his.

“I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what else to say.

_What do I want others to say to me?_

(Probably not _sorry_.)

He takes the apology better than I would. Simon lifts my hand up to his mouth and kisses it. I use my free hand to wipe a tear away. 

“‘S alright.”

_It’s not_.

None of this is. 

“I get to choose, at least. If I feel ready. So I don’t have to go through the worst of it; you know?”

I wipe another tear away from his eye. 

“Maybe I’ll meet my parents in whatever it is that is beyond what we have here.” He waves to the sky.

_The unknown_.

“Do you not know them?”

He shakes his head.

“Grew up in the group homes and foster care, so I never knew my parents.” He sighs. “We all assume they died. Which would have been before all of this stuff was available.”

Ah yes, _this stuff_.

This world.

I’ve yet to decide yet if it’s a good or bad thing yet, that we’ve somehow managed to manipulate human minds and consciousness in order to alter the after life. 

(Though if it’s meant I get to spend even a bit of time with Simon, I’ll take it.)

“So I’m hopeful that if there is something after this, then I might be able to meet them.” 

He lets out a breath.

“Better to think that than the probable truth. That they just abandoned me.”

“Do you know anything else about them?” I ask.

He shrugs.

“No, not really. The home I was raised at told me that I showed up on their doorstep wrapped in a blanket with my name written on my arm.” 

Tiny baby Snow, on the doorstep to a group home. It’s a vision I don’t want to see, but my mind provides it anyway (the traitor). He was probably crying; maybe sleeping. 

(I’ll tell myself he was sleeping. Unaware of what happened, how he had been left on a doorstep by the people who were to care for him.)

“I got lucky when I was about 12 or 13 though,” he continues. I listen intently, watching carefully as he tells his story. “I got the most amazing foster mom in the world. Name’s Ebb.” His face lights up again as he tells me about her.

Turns out Ebb was as good his mother as anyone could have ever been. She made sure he had food, got him involved in after school clubs (he tried a few sports; said he wasn’t great), and made sure he went to school too.

He became a teacher.

(I try not to think of all the students who have been robbed by not being able to have him as their teacher.)

“She died, however, a year back.” he lets out a breath. “Right before I got diagnosed.”

I watch his face fall.

I can’t help but wonder if he was so focused on her, that he might have missed the signs.

Took care of another, and didn’t notice himself.

_Simon Snow, I hope you let someone take care of you._

(I would, if you allow me to.)

“I miss her, but she’d tell me that it’s all part of the world.”

“Did she come here?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“No, not really her thing. She wanted to move on.”

He shifts on his side, turning to face me. Sand falls from his hair as he moves.

“But that’s enough on that.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss me.

When he parts I sigh.

“Should we check the time?” I ask. 

_We can’t have much time left_. 

“No,” he responds. “Let’s just pretend we still have the world in front of us. Then when the time hits we can pretend we fell asleep in each other’s arms.” 

He puts his head on my chest, holding me tight. 

I wrap my arms around him, returning the favor.

I let my eyes close, absorbing everything I can pick up without them.

The feel of the soft sand against my feet. How Simon’s breathing feels against the side of my body. His chest moving in and out. 

The waves softly crashing a few feet from us.

I try to memorize it all.

The time must end after a while because I can’t hear anything. My arms don’t move.

I don’t feel or hear Simon anymore.

Only the sound of beeping and the whir of machines. 

**______________________________________________**

_“How is it looking for the end of this week?”_

_“Fiona, you know we can’t-”_

_“No. You_ know _this is what he wants.”_

_“You’re not his power of attorney though, Fiona.”_

_There’s a sigh._

_“Please-”_

_“Have you convinced them to sign POA to you?”_

_A pause._

_“I didn’t think so.”_

_“They won’t listen. They’ll have nothing to do with him anymore.”_

_A slam against the wall._

_“Is there anyone else? Was he seeing anyone before?”_

_A pause._

_“No. No one. I’ve tried. He might agree if-” a shaky breath. “If it means he’d be able to pass over.”_

_The beeping of machines takes over the sound of the room._

_“I’m sorry, Fiona. But without the legal back up, I can’t do it.”_

_A door softly closes, letting the sound of someone crying fill the room._

_She takes a few steps closer. I feel her grab my hand._

_(I wish I could grab it back.)_

_“I’m sorry, Basil. I’ll get it fixed as soon as I can.”_

_(I wish I could tell her I understand. That I know she’s trying her hardest.)_

_A hand goes to my forehead, pushing back some of my hair._

_“You’ve got a visitor coming tomorrow, I hear,” she laughs. “I’m sure you’ve told him to not run into me, like the son of a bitch you are.”_

_Simon_. 

Simon is coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr.](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)
> 
> I also made a playlist that you can check out [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/71jLfzHsQM7tDmYql3VX9V?si=bmjkgzVtRH6AiA56-M9Zhw)
> 
> S/O again to [Adamarks](http://tumblr.com/blog/adamarks) for looking this over! You're a gem and you deserve the world <3


	3. Crazed Aunts and a Five Minute Limit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon goes to visit Baz. He sees what he looks like in the real world, and makes a quick decision to help him with something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout, again, to [Adamarks](http://tumblr.com/blog/adamarks) for beta reading this for me. You're the best <3

**Simon**

The van that drives me to Baz’s facility is larger than needed. I assume it’s for all my equipment (emergency wheelchair, oxygen tank, a container of cheese balls), but I try to pretend they wanted me to be comfortable for the drive. To  _ spread my legs _ or whatever. 

The drive is long but fairly painless. I inhaled about half the container of cheese balls before falling into a coughing fit.

(That was a feat in and of itself.)

When we arrive, I see there is a large rock with the name ingrained. 

_ Hampshire Hospice Facility _ .

I can’t help the laugh that escapes.

_ Fucking pretentious, that’s what that is.  _

What does that even mean?

_ Hampshire _ .

A quick google search tells me it’s a place in England. 

(Wanna be Brits.)

“Ready?” Rhys asks from the front seat.

I nod, undoing my seat belt as he hops out of the car.

It’s a production to get me out. I can walk mostly, but the wheelchair is here in case I get too tired and need to get off my feet. Rhys, my nurse who agreed to take me here, helps me out of the car and up the steps.

I’m glad I got him. He’ll hover, but at a distance. 

He doesn’t treat me like I’m dying.

(Even though I am.)

He also snuck the cheese balls into the van, so he’s solid. 

I’m panting a bit too much when we reach the top.

(More than I would have a year ago.)

I know it’s getting close. Probably only a couple more weeks before I start to get bad.

(That’s what my doctor says, at least.)

“Hello,” greets the person at the counter. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. Rhys stands beside me, smiling at a nurse walking by. “I’m here to see Baz Pitch.”

She gives me a soft smile and looks at her computer.

“Yes, I heard you’d be coming. It’ll be so good for him. Someone other than his aunt,” she mutters the last line. 

I think, for a moment, she looks irritated.

_ What is his aunt like? _

Once she has me sign in she leads me back, with Rhys in tow, to a room.

_ Baz’s room.  _

The entire hospice has a relaxing feel. (Though I guess that is the point.) It’s covered in light wood, windows that allow for natural sunlight to shine in, and quiet whispers. We pass a family sitting on couches laughing softly with each other.

It’s like someone turned the volume down on the facility. Like it is just a television that can be muted. 

My own center is a little darker. The windows aren’t as big, but they do their best. Soft carpet, kind smiles, fluffy pillows.

Some of the best scones I’ve ever had too.

(Sour cherry. The cook saves me extras and delivers when they are fresh and warm.)

It’s not as nice as this, though. But I should have known Baz would be at the nicest place possible.

(He deserves it.)

“Okay here we go,” she says, stopping at a door, gesturing for me to go in.

I walk in, overwhelmed first by the bright sun shining through the window. The curtains are pulled aside, but they’re white and thin. I’m sure even drawn closed they don’t provide much shade from the sun. 

When I get past the bright sun pouring in, I turn to the bed against the wall, centered between two sets of machines.

_ Baz _ .

“Hey there,” I say softly as I approach his bed, taking him in. 

He wasn’t lying when he said he’d not be able to do much. But I don’t mind it. The doctors said he should still know I’m here, and that’s enough for me. 

His eyes are closed, almost as if he is sleeping. He could be, for all I know. The machines beep in the background, keeping track of his vitals. 

“How is it that even when you’re attached to machines, you’re still the most attractive person in this building?” 

I laugh, and I know if he could respond he’d be laughing too. 

He’s got some scarring, but it’s not awful. His hair is long, just like when we are in San Junipero. 

The light pouring in hits his face perfectly. It’s like he instructed the sun to always keep a spotlight on him, lest people not notice him.

(As if I’d ever  _ not _ notice Baz.)

I reach a hand out, running it through his hair, trying to avoid any wires in the way.

_ It’s just as soft too. _

I sit for a while with him, talking about anything floating around in my head. I’m sure he’d have shut me up with a kiss by now, maybe called me annoying, definitely would have rolled his eyes.

I hold his hand the entire time, imagining his thumb rubbing against my own.

(He does that without realizing it sometimes. Especially when we are quiet or I’m too in my own head.)

After an hour and a half, a woman with an intense face and a grey streak in her hair walks in.

She pauses the second she sees me.

“Who the fuck are you?”

I jump up.

“Oh, I am,” I fluster, caught off guard.  _ I thought I was the only visitor today _ . “I’m Simon, ma’am.”

I hold out a hand to shake hers. She looks at it for a moment before crossing her arms.

“I’m his aunt,” she says cooly. 

_ Oh _ .

“And  _ don’t _ call me ma’am.”

I try not to wince. 

“Fiona, right?” I ask.

The look she is giving me right now could kill a rhino.

(Not that I know. I just assume rhinos would be hard to kill.)

All I know is Baz was right; she’s terrifying. 

“Yes.”

She continues to glare at me. Rhys walks to the door, giving me a look, wanting to know if I need saving.

I shake my head slightly.

“Are you hungry?” She asks.

I blink.

“Uh.”

_ I guess I always am _ .

“Here let’s get some food,” she says, walking out the door.

I stand for a moment, wondering  _ why _ the change in mood. It feels as if she went from wanting to murder me to wanting to feed me.

(She isn’t going to murder me, is she?)

“Quick now or the good sandwiches will be gone,” she says.

I place my hand on Baz’s again, leaning into his ear.

“If you never see me again, it’s because she poisoned the Jell-O,” I whisper. 

I get down the hall as quick as I can (not fast, considering. But fast for me.)

“So, you know Basil?” She asks when I catch up to her.

I nod my head, not wanting her to hear my heavy breathing.

“Did you two meet in.” She gestures around her head.

“San Junipero? Yeah- yes. We did.”

She hands me a tray, making her way to the burgers.

I pause, looking around. The food is different here. There are a lot of different stations. There’s even a chef in the middle for personalized orders. I see pizza and walk towards it.

(Pizza is always a safe bet.)

“Does he seem to be enjoying himself?” She asks, grabbing fries from the station next to me.

My mind jumps to how we spent the last two Saturdays.

(Bed, shower, counter, sand, and repeat.)

I clear my throat.

“Uh, yeah,” I reply, following her to the check out. “I would say so.”

She nods her head.

“Good.”

We sit down, she starts eating her fries.

I’m still unsure why we’re eating right now. What she hopes to gain from me. Or if she only wants to know how Baz is doing.

“The five hour rule is stupid,” she says after a moment. “I wish he had more time there.”

I shrug.

“Yeah, we all do. But they say it ‘ _ makes people go crazy’ _ or whatever. They don’t know the difference between what is real and what is San Junipero.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Load of bullshit, that is.”

I can’t help the laughter that comes out. I worry for a moment that it was too much, but she smiles at me.

“So you’re sick too, I take it?” She asks.

I nod, taking a bite of my pizza.

(I’m sure the walking monitor named Rhys was a dead giveaway. Not to mention the wheelchair, oxygen tank, and the slight unnatural paleness to my skin I’ve received over the past two weeks.)

“You’re both too young,” she mutters, reaching for her glass. “I hate that Basil is here too. He should be-”

She pauses for a drink.

“He should be living,” I finish for her. 

She nods.

“As should you,” she adds. 

We sit in silence for another few moments, both deep in thought. 

He’s passing over this week. He told me that the last time we talked. 

He’s going to be a  _ lifer. _

I’m excited for him.

(Really, I am.)

The pit in my stomach, however, disagrees.

“He was supposed to pass on this weekend,” she says, jarring me from my thoughts.

_ Supposed to? _

“What do you mean? I thought he was?” I ask, confused.

“He can’t. I don’t have power of attorney, so therefore I can’t sign off on it. And since it’s not like he can sign any paperwork right now, he’s stuck.”

I frown.

“Who has power of attorney?” I ask. 

“His father.”

I put down my pizza.

“Well, wouldn’t he want what is best for Baz?” I ask.

I’m genuinely confused. I know I was dealt a crap hand in life, but Baz shouldn’t have been.

He should have been good.

Fiona lets out a large, extremely false, laugh.

“Has he not told you about Malcolm yet?” 

People from a table nearby glance at us. She doesn’t seem to mind, so I don’t say anything. 

I shake my head.

He doesn’t talk much about his family, or even how he ended up here. I don’t push or pry though; I know more than anyone how hard it is to talk about these things.

(To let them see how weak you are.)

It’s probably part of why he doesn’t want me here. 

“Look, I don’t know how much he would  _ want _ me to tell you. But you’ve got to know in order to understand the complete situation.”

She takes a final bite of her burger, leaving her once full plate empty.

I look down at mine, a slice still left.

I don’t think I could eat it if I tried.

(I know that’s bad. Especially for me.)

“A while back there was a really bad fire at the house,” she begins. “Basil was on break from college, everything was great.” A breath. “Well, kind of. It was tense, weird, but it was fine.”

I take a drink of water to do something with my hands.

“Then there was a fire while they were asleep.” She puts her napkin on her plate. “His father got his younger sister out fairly quick, while Natasha, his mother, came to get him.” 

_ The scars _ . 

“They didn’t realize how bad the fire had gotten. She got him through and out, but she couldn’t get out herself, and she didn’t make it.”

Someone nearby starts to laugh. It feels ominous, uncomfortable even. Knowing that while I’m hearing one of the more disastrous and tragic events someone could experience, someone else is experiencing that amount of joy. 

I think even if I could eat right now, I wouldn’t be able to. 

“Basil suffered extreme burns and horrible lung damage. He wouldn’t wake up. Not even after surgery.” She shifts in her seat. “It’s been nearly two years since, and nothing has changed. The doctors recommended San Junipero, to let him feel like he was living. Even if he isn’t.” Fiona smiles, staring at an empty spot on the table. “Took a lot of fight against his father to do it.”

“Why though? Why is his father being so difficult about it? Wouldn’t he want what is best for his son?” I ask, still confused. 

“Right before the fire, maybe three or four days prior, he came out to his parents. They-” she pauses, debating her words. “Didn’t take it well, to say the least.”

I let out a long breath.

No wonder he was so odd when we first met.

He was used to a family who pushed him away and made him feel like he  _ couldn’t _ love who he wanted. 

He had finally told them who he was, and they rejected him. 

“So he’s going to let his son just sit in hospice? How does that benefit anyone?”

My questions come out louder than I mean them to.

“I think he believes he’s doing what is right,” she answers, not acknowledging my volume. “He probably thinks he’s giving him a treat, allowing him to be here and be a part of San Junipero. His gay son, who he secretly blames for the death of his wife.” Her jaw is clenched.

I wipe my eyes with my hands, feeling them start to sting. 

“Is there any other way to change the power of attorney?” I ask, trying to change the topic. 

“Short of me marrying him, which I think is illegal in every state here, I don’t think so, boyo.”

She picks up both of our plates and carries them to the trash.

(I wonder if Baz knows.)

When she gets back I have a realization.

“Wait, Fiona,” I jump up. “Do you think you could get them to let me talk to him? Even for just a few minutes?”

She raises an eyebrow.

(She looks just like Baz when she does it.)

“What are you cooking, kid?” She asks.

“Please, I promise, I just- I need to talk to him for five minutes. Alright?”

She stands up.

“Alright, I’m sure I can shake them down.”

I look at Rhys, mouthing  _ be right back _ as Fiona and I walk out.

He nods in response, returning to his phone.

(Good man.)

She’s fierce as fuck. It only takes her one minute thirty seconds (I timed it) to get someone to let me talk to Baz.

“Five minutes,” the person tells me, as they slip the circular device on his temple. “That’s all you get, you hear?” 

I nod, as they do the same to me. 

I close my eyes and wait. 

When I first did this, I worried it was going to hurt. 

But really, it just feels like I’m going to sleep. 

When I open them again, I’m at the beach. The house, white siding, flowing curtains from open windows, and my Jeep rest before me.

I start to run.

(Because I can here.)

_ Because Baz is here. And we only have so much time. _

I see him walk out of the house, the wind pushing his hair back and I run faster. 

“Baz!” I shout. 

He turns, looking at me with a bright smile as I run into his arms.

“What’s happening?” He asks. “I could only catch a bit of that conversation.” 

“Look,” I say, backing up, not letting myself think too much about this. “We only have so much time, and I, well.”

I get down on both knees and look up at him.

(Fuck, it’s only supposed to be one, isn’t it?)

His eyebrows shoot up in confusion.

(Oh well, two knee proposal it is.)

“Marry me,” I tell him. “Marry me, please.” 

He blinks a few times, catching up. 

“Why?”

I stand.

“You’ll be able to pass over,” I say, kissing him softly. “And-”

I pause, looking into his eyes.

No scar on his face.

No machines in sight beeping away.

His skin looks more alive here.

(So does mine.)

He looks  _ happy _ . 

“And because I love you, Baz,” I finish. “So, marry me.”

I’ve known for a while that I’ve loved him. Probably from the first time I saw him. 

From the moment we danced.

And when I found him again, in a little bar in 1987.

When I found him again, I knew I’d never love anyone else. 

He searches my eyes for a moment before pulling me into a kiss.

“Yes, Simon Snow, I will marry you,” he whispers as we part. 

I kiss him again, and the world goes black in a swirl of I love you’s.

______________________________________________

It’s not ideal. Marrying someone while they’re in a coma, attached to machines to keep them alive.

But it’s me.

It’s him. 

And if this helps him live a better life, then fuck expectations. 

(I’m sure I can show up Saturday in a suit and tie anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)
> 
> I also have a playlist! Check it out [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/71jLfzHsQM7tDmYql3VX9V?si=YQBSAmTXQrOl-faM47M88A)


	4. Another Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz has passed over, Simon and he are married. 
> 
> But Simon is acting odd the next time he visits San Junipero...
> 
> And it doesn't feel quite like heaven anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to [Adamarks](http://tumblr.com/blog/adamarks) for beta reading this! Your comments have meant the world to me.

**Baz**

I take a deep breath of the air around me. It’s salty, crisp,  _ clean _ . 

It’s a bit weird. 

Fairly nice, however. 

But also completely and utterly freeing. 

I’m sitting, looking at the beach as the sun begins to lower. I move my toes, letting some sand fall off them, digging them back under. 

I’ve been here countless times before. Touched the sand, breathed the air; yet somehow it feels more  _ real _ now. 

I trace a finger in the sand. 

There’s no end to this place; not anymore. 

I’m able to walk around town whenever and however long I’d like. I’ve been able to meet other  _ lifers _ . 

It’s interesting to watch how a week feels here. The people who come through, the way the atmosphere changes after each wave of people comes and goes.

(I visited the 70s finally. Smoked a cigarette and listened to classic rock. The cigarette was dreadful, but the classic rock was nice.) 

I exhale, letting my shoulders relax. It’s Saturday, 7:00 p.m. He should be here any second now. 

I hear tires pulling into the driveway, crunching the gravel underneath. 

_ Finally _ . 

I jump up and turn around, smiling at the dumb Jeep Simon insists on driving. 

He parks it clumsily, not caring about where it’s ended up. 

(It’s only halfway on the driveway.) 

I start walking up to him.

_ He’s here _ .

And we are  _ married _ .

When he exits the car I see him in a grey suit.

It looks  _ heavenly _ on him. 

(Why does he look so good in grey?)

“Well hey there!” He shouts, running towards me. “I never thought I’d be the more dressed up out of the two of us!”

_ I should be wearing a suit too _ .

I close my eyes and imagine it, and when I open them back up I’ve changed.

(The beauty of a simulated world, I guess, is you can change your appearance at will.)

“Better?” I ask as he comes closer.

He gives me one last look, eyes travelling up and down my body, before jumping on me, smothering me in a kiss. 

“Much better,” he whispers against my lips. 

We stand there as the sun begins to set. My feet start to itch from the grass, but I dare not move when Simon Snow is kissing me.

(It’s perfect. I’ve no other way to describe it.)

We move inside, Simon removing my suit jacket, me removing his. 

(I can’t tell if I like him more  _ in _ the suit, or while I take him  _ out _ of the suit.)

His arrival reminds me that time still has meaning.

Time usually doesn’t. Not in the afterlife.

(Though some call it another life.)

Simon leans in and kisses my neck.

(Five hours, Basil. You only have five hours.)

We spend the first hour together like we always do- in bed. I watch him let go beneath me. 

The second hour we gorge ourselves on pastries and wine, sitting naked on the couch, not caring about any crumbs that fall. 

(I still have yet to find out how things get cleaned. Maybe because it’s all imaginary it just gets cleaned itself.)

“This is exactly how I thought I’d spend my honeymoon,” Simon says. “Relaxing, drinking, eating a bunch of pastries.”

“What about being with your new husband?” I ask, poking his side.

He jumps and laughs.

“He’s alright too.” He winks up at me. 

The third we get dressed again, walking through the roads near the house. Cars drive by us with their headlights on too bright, people screaming and having the time of their lives. 

We squint and wave each time. 

The fourth, we dance.

Hips slow, hands never leaving the other.

The club is crowded, but it feels like it’s only the two of us. 

The fifth, when we are home after finding a slice of pizza for Snow, he asks me about passing over. 

“How do you feel?” He asks as we walk inside. 

I take a deep breath.

I’m not sure I’ve quite figured it out.

“Free?” I tell him. 

He raises an eyebrow.

(He tries to, at least. It never quite works for him.)

“Just… knowing that when I wake up it’s not going to be to my crying aunt over my practically dead body, machines beeping, or doctors saying things like  _ there’s no hope for him _ .” 

Simon nods. 

“I wouldn’t  _ want _ this,” I continue, mulling things over. I take a seat on a chair. He follows me, sitting across, listening intently. “But it’s all I’ve got as an option now.”

The curtain behind us blows inside the window. Simon, for that brief moment, sheltered behind light white fabric, only thinly veiled, seems somber.

But when it moves back he looks okay. 

Must have been my eyes playing tricks. 

“But it feels… real.” I shift in my seat, reaching for his hands. “Not that it didn’t before, just that, it feels more so. Everything is a bit crisper now.”

I sigh, squeezing his hands.

The moon isn’t as bright tonight.

There’s a streetlight, but it barely lights up the porch.

I’ve never seen Simon so dim. 

“You look really good in a suit.” I take a hand, grabbing his collar to pull him close.

We put the suits back on, but let the ties be forgotten. 

(Though now I wonder about pulling him close by grabbing it.)

_ Not a half-bad plan. _

I kiss him, letting myself forget that his time is limited, like we aren’t on borrowed time. 

(It never seems to work, but I try regardless.)

When we part, his face seems to drop. Just as it did when the curtain blew between us.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

It’s dark- too dark.

(I should turn on a light.)

“I think this is going to be my last weekend.”

_ Oh _ .

This isn’t a  _ lights on _ conversation. 

_ His last weekend _ .

He says it with the emotion someone has while making a business interaction over paper clips. 

(I don’t know what a business transaction over paper clips would look like, but I imagine it wouldn’t be filled with much emotion.)

He’s holding back, I know he is. 

(But why?)

“I’m only getting worse and-” he clears his throat “and I think it’s time. I don’t want things to get too painful, and I’ve already said what I need to say to anyone left.”

He pulls back from me, sitting on the other end of the couch. 

Saying  _ goodbye _ .

I can’t tell if I dodged a bullet with not being able to say goodbye, or if I’ve missed my opportunity. 

_ I’d have liked to say something to Fiona, at least _ . 

“So, uh, yeah,” he continues. His voice is shaky, but it’s obvious he’s trying to hide it. “I’m going to tell my doctors tomorrow, I think. I doubt they’ll be surprised though, they know how bad I’m getting.”

I frown. 

Something doesn’t add up.

(He’s really upset for someone about to pass over.)

But I don’t want to be insensitive. It’s still the loss of life, of  _ his life _ , and he’s so young.

“Simon-” I pause, reaching out for his hand. 

He feels far away.

(Too far away.)

He lets me take his hand in my own, smiling at the way our fingers naturally fit together. 

When he looks back up he has tears in his eyes.

_ Simon, no crying while we’re in heaven. _

There’s no reason to be sad here, while we rest together. 

“I’m going to miss you, so much,” he says, his chest heaving in shaky breaths. Tears start to roll down his cheeks. 

I blink.

_ He’s going to miss me _ .

Why would he?

Isn’t he…

_ (He’s coming to be with me, right?) _

  
“Simon, you can just pass over,” I say softly. “Like I did. Then-” he sniffles. “Then you wouldn’t have to worry about missing me.”

It’s quiet, tears still coming down his cheeks. 

_ Why isn’t he responding _ ?

(He should agree, right? He married me.)

We are  _ married. _

“Simon, just come and be with me, we can stay here forever,” I say a little louder this time.

Choose me, Simon Snow.

_ I thought you already had. _

I look down at the ring resting on my finger.

I look at the one on his.

“Baz-” he starts. 

He pauses, and the look on his face says it all.

_ He’s not staying here. _

I pull back my hand as my eyes start to sting. My throat starts to feel tight, making it harder to breathe.

“Simon, please.”

It comes out choked. 

“Baz, I can’t stay,” he whispers, looking down at my knee. 

“But we’re married!” I shout.

I don’t mean to.

I’ve never been a shouter.

But…

He  _ can’t _ .

He can’t just leave me. 

We were supposed to have this. 

( _ I _ was supposed to have this.)

“Baz,” he says, voice rising. “I was trying to help. If I didn’t then you’d have been-”

“So it was just out of pity,” I interrupt. I’m not shouting. I’m not whispering.

But my brain feels like it’s melting. 

My heart feels like he’s taken his hand and crashed it through my chest, squeezing it tight. 

“What? No. Baz, not out of pity.” He says, lowering his voice in caution. “But, if I didn’t you wouldn’t have been able to pass-”

“So, I’ve passed. Great. Your job is done.” 

I stand up and walk to the counter. 

“Baz I’m-”

“No, I don’t want to hear it.” I drop my head in my hands. “I thought you loved me.”

The tears are coming now. I see one hit the white counter that I’m leaning on. It’s followed quickly by three more.

(How many drops until there’s a puddle? Pond? Maybe I’ll flood the house and become one with the ocean near us.)

“Baz, of course I love you.”

Another drop falls. 

I raise my head, refusing to watch another tear join the rest.

“Then why won’t you stay!” It comes out loud and shaky, filled with more emotion than I’d like to show.

_ If you love me, then why won’t you stay. _

“I can’t, Baz.” 

I let out a sigh.

“There’s nothing stopping you from staying here. You just don’t want to.”

“Baz, that’s unfair.”

“No. What’s unfair is the person who ran to me, asked me to marry him, said he’d protect and love me forever, isn’t staying. He’s leaving me here, right when things are getting  _ good _ .”

I sit on the chair by the counter, looking at the wall.

I can’t look at him. 

A wave falls onto the beach nearby.

“Baz, I can’t just choose this,” he shouts. “My parents didn’t get that choice. Why should I? Why should I get this opportunity to live in this… this…” 

He pauses. I’ve no clue why, but I’m not going to look to find out.

“Why should I get to live forever when Ebb didn’t?” He says softly, achingly so. 

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold my tongue.

_ Don’t let other people make your choice, Simon. _

I want to say it. To tell him it doesn’t matter what other people do. This is his life. His choice.

_ What do you want, Simon Snow? _

“I can’t just choose that; no matter how much I love you, or want to be here. It’s not fair. I shouldn’t get to do that.” 

I close my eyes. 

“Then go,” I say softly.

I don’t want him to.

Not really.

But he’s leaving anyway. He’s taking his hand from my chest, bloody and warm, leaving me cold and in pain.

I thought this would be different. 

That he’d stay. 

I look at the clock.

_ 11:55. _

“It’s almost time anyway.”

I hear him start to say something, my name maybe. But he must know it’s not worth it. I wouldn’t listen anyway. 

After a few moments, I hear the door close. 

_ I thought I had this bit figured out _ .

The car starts.

_ This was when things were supposed to be good. _

I look at the clock.

_ 11:57. _

_ Paradise. _

What kind of paradise is this supposed to be?

I hear the screeching of tires and walk outside.

Quickly after I hear shouting and a crash.

I run before I even realize it.

Before my brain has enough sense to think that he can’t die.

(Not here.)

He’s dying out  _ there _ not in  _ here _ .

Not in San Junipero.

I run, dropping my suit jacket. (To go faster? To feel less constrained? I’m not sure.)

I see the Jeep, tumbled over a pile of rocks. 

I stumble over the hill, looking for him.

I see curls, a body lying still (too still) on the ground.

I step forward.

“Simon?”

My voice is shaky. 

_ No response. _

I move to get closer.

“Simon?”

I ask it with more confidence this time.

But instead of responding, he leaves.

In the matter of a blink, he’s gone. 

I look down at my watch.

_ 12:00 _ .

He’s gone.

I drop to my knees, letting the pain fall out of me. 

I let it crash just like the waves nearby on the beach.

Before it always felt relaxing. But now it feels like sadness.

Like pain.

Anger. 

He’s ready. It’s time.

And he’s not coming to be with me. 

Forever in paradise, without the person you love.

_ How is this still heaven on Earth? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! One last chapter remaining. 
> 
> Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)
> 
> I also made a [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/71jLfzHsQM7tDmYql3VX9V?si=1aNBOxYMTTKTkc3hiCgy_w) if you'd like to give it a listen!


	5. Heaven is When I'm With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon left Baz. But what does that mean for him now?
> 
> He's supposed to move on. Things are getting to rough, too painful. His health is declining and he's faced with a choice. 
> 
> A letter from Ebb that he's held on to gives him the answer he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to [Adamarks](http://tumblr.com/blog/adamarks) for beta reading this and for their endless support. It meant the world to me.

**Simon**

“Was everything okay?” Rhys asks as he takes the device off my temple. 

I nod, not wanting to answer. Afraid of what sound might come out.

I didn’t mean to crash. 

I was just driving. I needed to move.

There were only 5 minutes left. 

(I didn’t think anything bad would come of it.)

I heard him.

(Baz.)

He heard me crash and he ran after me. 

_ Even after everything. _

(There was something in the road, I was just trying to dodge it.)

I didn’t see the rocks. 

“Ready for bed?” He asks.

I nod again. 

He wheels me to my room.

I used to be able to walk to it. But now I’m too tired. It’s too hard.

(What a 25-year-old; can’t even get himself to bed.)

I take a shaky breath in and immediately start coughing. 

(I can barely breathe without that happening. It’s getting worse and worse.)

He pulls me into my room and helps me get ready for bed. 

(It’s demoralizing, really.)

When he finally leaves, closing the door softly behind him, leaving me alone with the machines around me keeping me afloat. Keeping me  _ monitored _ . That’s when I let it out.

The tears flow as everything hits.

What I said.

My decision. 

The decision I made when I was first entered, that I’d not make it permanent. 

It didn’t feel the same when I told Baz. 

_ I love him _ .

I don’t want to leave him.

I never did.

The way I feel when I’m around him, it makes me feel happier than I ever thought possible. 

But it can’t be fair, can it?

Not to Ebb. 

She didn’t get to live forever, why should I?

Ebb thought that it was important to accept whatever fate came next. She rarely used or put much stock into the technology we use these days.

That’s just who she was. 

(I wonder, sometimes, if she’d be ashamed of me for even being a part of this program) 

But I couldn’t resist. I fell for the temptation. 

She told me to live, so I took that as a sign to do this for my last bit of life. Live as much as I can. 

_ But, I fell in love, Ebb. How am I supposed to die now? _

I miss her. 

I wish she were here to see this, to see  _ me _ . She’d help me and bring me chicken noodle soup and put Vicks on my feet because  _ it helps everything, Simon _ . 

(She once put Vicks on my chest for a broken heart.)

It worked while it was on. Mainly because I was laughing too hard to think about the pain. 

I close my eyes, tears soaking my pillowcase, and let the pain medicine help me fall asleep.

______________________________________________

I wake up to the voice of a woman by my bed. 

“Ma’am, you really can’t be in here,” Rhys says. “He needs as much rest as he can get.”

I think I hear him whisper  _ he's not got long left, let him sleep if he needs to _ , but I choose to ignore it.

“He’s my Nephew-in-law; I have every right,” the woman says.

I open an eye.

_ Fiona _ .

“Rhys-” I break to cough. 

_ Can’t get a word out without it _ .

“It’s fine,” I finish. 

He hands me water and looks at Fiona.

“Five minutes,” he tells her. 

She rolls her eyes and pulls up a chair.

“Alright alright,” she tells him, waving him off. 

He gives me a look as he leaves.

“I got wind that you’re on your last leg, kid,” she says. 

I squint.

_ Is that why she came? _

“About, yeah.” I cough again. “But when  _ wasn’t _ I?”

She lets out a huff of laughter.

There’s an awkward pause for a moment, while we both wait for her to say what she needs to.

I wait. I’m patient. Especially  _ now _ . 

“Have you-” she clears her throat. “Have you seen Baz?”

I close my eyes.

_ Baz _ .

Black suit, soft hair, kisses that feel like sparks against my skin. 

_ But also... _

Crying, shouting, upset.

Angry.

(Rightfully so.)

I heard the way he said my name before the clock hit midnight. 

_ He was hurt. _

(Because of me.)

“Yes.” I don’t have it in me to give more details.

They won’t do her very well right now. 

“Does he seem happy?”

She looks up, and I can see in her eyes why she is here. It was never for me; not completely. Her nephew, someone she loved dearly, is gone from her life. She wanted him free, to let go, but it’s still hard. 

I think of the way he told me to go, how he shouted my name. How I  _ hurt _ him. 

She doesn’t need to know.

_ The truth is, Fiona, I broke your Nephew’s heart. _

(I broke mine too.)

“Yes,” I say. “He says he feels free.”

It’s not a lie, not really. 

_ I hope he’s alright. _

She nods her head, eyes starting to shine from tears she doesn’t want to shed. Not in front of me, at least. 

“Thanks,” she says quietly. “For helping him.”

I nod.

“I’d do anything for him,” I whisper. 

______________________________________________

I’ve this note that Ebb left me before she passed. She was really sick, so I think she knew how it might end. 

I’ve read it over a million times. There are tear stains all over, a bit of Cheeto dust in one corner, and a tear on the side.

(I beat myself up for a week when I did that.)

I’ve been more careful with it ever since. 

_ Simon, _

_ When I picked you up all those years ago, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I knew you had been through trouble, that you had an anger problem and often fought. _

_ So lucky me to find out that this boy with a rough exterior had one of the largest hearts in the world.  _

_ You and I got into it often, but we always made up. I made mistakes, you made mistakes, sometimes we made them together and caught the kitchen on fire.  _

_ But you always cared.  _

_ You love so much, Simon. You care deeply, love without abandon, and have a kind soul. _

_ I’ve been blessed to be a pseudo parent to you all these years.  _

_ I know this is hard; letting me go. But know that I’ll be alright, wherever I end up. If it’s my time, then it’s my time. _

_ I’ve accepted it.  _

_ But Simon, I hope you know, that it’s your time too. You deserve love. _

_ You deserve to live.  _

_ Don’t hold back anymore, let others love you, let them see your greatness.  _

_ Let yourself love. _

_ With all my love, _

_ Ebb _

_ P.S. Don’t forget to take the trash out on Tuesdays.  _

I’m on the deck attached to the building, looking at the sun hanging high in the sky. 

I never did get the chance to  _ live _ as she wanted me to after her death. It wasn’t long after that I was diagnosed, and then started calling this place my home.

I tried with San Junipero. It was my chance to do as she wanted. 

_ Don’t forget to take the trash out on Tuesdays. _

One would think it’s because I was really bad at taking the trash out. 

(I was, but that’s beside the point.)

Ebb knew I had a lot stored in me.

So every Tuesday night we’d sit on the couch and talk. Sometimes she’d cry, sometimes I would, sometimes we both would.

Sometimes I punched a pillow.

Sometimes we laughed.

Sometimes we shouted.

It was our day of emotions. 

(It wasn’t exclusively a Tuesday thing. If we felt a lot of emotions on a Wednesday, we would just call it a Tuesday and let it loose.)

_ Don’t forget to take the trash out on Tuesdays _ . 

We’d lay it all out, and get the grossest, grittiest things out of our heads. 

And it felt  _ good _ . 

I ask Rhys for a pen and paper. 

It’s a Friday, the fifth day of the week, but I’m going to pretend it’s a Tuesday.

_ Dear Ebb, _

_ I know you won’t be able to read this, but I wanted to write to you. _

_ I love you. _

_ I know I wasn’t easy. I was a teenage boy who had grown up in foster care and the system, and I’d seen a lot.  _

_ You took me in and showed me more love than anyone ever had before, and I thank you so much for that. _

_ I’ve lived a lot of my life thinking about the day I would meet my parents. _

_ But I guess I already had, hadn’t I? _

_ It was you. _

_ You may not be related to me by blood, but you were the parent I always wanted to meet.  _

_ In your letter, you told me to live. _

_ I didn’t get much of a chance to after you passed, but I did get a cool opportunity that allowed me to (at least a bit.) _

_ I met a boy. I think you’d like him. He’s smart, too smart really, funny, and he treats me the way you’d want me to be treated. _

_ He’s so kind and has an impossibly large heart. _

_ I love him. I love him so much.  _

_ I hurt him, too.  _

_ I lived while I was with him.  _

_ And Ebb, I’ve worried for so long that you’d think I should pass on the way you did.  _

_ I’ve carried a lot of guilt. For my parents, for you.  _

_ (Though, I think you’d hit me if you actually knew that last part.) _

_ But I don’t think I’m done living.  _

_ (You told me to, in a way. I always thought you meant it literally. Maybe this is what you intended instead.) _

_ So, if it’s alright, I think I’m going to continue doing that now.  _

_ All my love, _

_ Simon Snow.  _

_ P.S. It’s a Friday, but I’m still taking the trash out, and letting myself live.  _

I sigh, which only aggravates my lungs and makes me cough more.

Rhys comes with water and grabs the pad and paper from me.

“Do you want me to deliver it to anyone?” He asks. 

I shake my head and grab the letter, ripping it from the pad, and slip it into my pocket.

_ This one’s for me. _

“Rhys,” I say once the coughing stops. “I think I’m ready.”

His eyes go wide.

“Are you sure?” 

I nod.

It’s time.

I’ve got a life to live, after all. 

______________________________________________

**Baz**

I think I’m going mad when I hear it.

A car. 

I tell myself it’s someone just using the driveway to turn around. 

_ It’s not him _ . 

It’s been almost a week since he left.

Since he told me he wouldn’t be coming back. 

I pull my knees up to my chest. 

I hear a car door close, and I frown.

(Just my imagination.)

I hear footsteps on gravel and can’t help myself. 

I turn around, risking the loss of the illusion. 

That he’s here. 

But when I look up, I see him. 

_ Simon Snow _ .

He’s walking towards me. 

“Hey there,” he says as he takes a seat next to me, facing the opposite direction. 

I turn my head and see his stupid Jeep. 

“Glad to see you’re alright,” I say stiffly. 

I can’t do this. Not if he’s just going to leave again. 

“Huh?” He asks. A moment passes. “Oh wait, yeah. Yeah, I’m alright. That was an accident, sorry if I scared you.”

I nod slightly. 

“I was thinking-” he starts.

“What’s this about, Snow?” I interrupt. 

It comes out snappy, but I don’t care. I can’t sit here and make pleasantries with him. 

Not when he still looks the way he does. His curls are moving slightly in the wind. His skin is golden as ever.

The sun, encompassing the top of his hair, making him look angelic as ever.

“I’m getting there,” He says, smiling at me.

He drops it fairly quickly, seeing the glare I’m giving him in return. 

“I was thinking, about Ebb, about my parents…”

I stare intently at the waves moving in. 

I’m sitting fairly close to the ocean, the water  _ almost _ touches my toes as it lands on the beach in waves.

“I realized I already met my parent. Maybe not my biological ones, but Ebb was as good a mom as anyone ever had been to me.” He sighs. “I don’t even know if my parents are actually alive, you know?”

I see him look at me out of the corner of my eye. But I refuse to look.

“And, I’ve been guilting myself into thinking that I needed to do as Ebb did. As she chose. But I don’t think she’d mind much, if I didn’t choose that.” 

Another wave rolls in, touching my toes this time. 

I move my feet back an inch to avoid it. 

“What are you getting at, Snow?” I say, still not looking at him.

“I’m saying, I reckon it’s time for me to live. And I think she’d approve of that. She loved me, with and because of the bad.”

I can’t help it, I turn and look at him.

_ It’s time for me to live _ .

What does that mean?

“What I mean is, I’ve passed on,” he says. “And, if you’ll have me, despite me being a jerk and not getting my head out of my ass sooner, I’d like to live what time we have here with you.”

I frown, thinking.

Is he…

He’s  _ staying? _

My heart jumps, but I try to hide it, looking straight ahead again.

“You  _ were _ a jerk,” I say.

“I was,” he responds, turning around to look at the ocean with me. 

“You also had your head in your ass.”

“You’re totally right, I did. But I think I’ve gotten it successfully removed.”

“Good.”

He lets out a soft laugh.

“Good, I’m glad we got that part cleared up,” he says. “Anything else I need to know or do?”

I look at him out of the side of my eye.

“What do you have to give me?” I ask.

He glances behind his shoulder.

“You know,” he says, pursing his lips in thought. “I was thinking I could use a change in car. Got any ideas?”

I turn around, looking at the green Jeep.

I close my eyes for a minute.

When I open them it’s a light blue convertible.

When I look at Simon again, he is smiling at me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I hope you can forgive me.”

I wait for a moment before I grab his hand and lean in, touching my forehead to his.

“Simon Snow,” I whisper. “You’re a fucking idiot, do you know that?”

He laughs in my face, loud and proud, and falling back on the ground.

“Yeah,” he says in between breaths. “I know.”

I climb over and lean in to kiss him.

“You’re stupid,” I whisper.

He nods.

“Very much so.”

“And an absolute ass,” I continue.

He pushes me back slightly, looking up at me.

“Are you just going to be insulting me forever?”

“If I feel like it, yes,” I respond, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I think I’ve earned that right.”

I kiss his neck.

“Fair enough.” 

“You’re a nightmare,” I continue, kissing his collar bone. 

He stops responding and closes his eyes.

“An absolute moron.”

I kiss his Adam's apple. 

“But I, unfortunately, love you.” I kiss his chin. “With that, despite it, because of it, you absolute nightmare.”

I kiss his lips, slow and soft, letting myself relish in something I wasn’t sure I’d ever get again. 

When I pull back he opens his eyes.

“I love you too, Baz,” he says, putting his hand on the back of my neck and pulling me in. 

I let myself sink into him.

His touch, his sound, his smell. 

He’s here, and he’s not going anywhere. 

He’s ready to  _ live _ .

And I think, after the pain, after everything I’ve gone through.

I’m ready too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who decided to give this fic a chance! I hope that you found that despite the MCD tag that it gave you everything you wanted. 
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/71jLfzHsQM7tDmYql3VX9V?si=_K-vnNJeTDG6-WbXFxATpw)
> 
> Feel free to scream at me on Tumblr or here! I cherish it dearly <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)
> 
> I also made a playlist, if you wanna check that out.
> 
> [Playlist Link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/71jLfzHsQM7tDmYql3VX9V?si=VrTF194wSkm6Y8pYILCJeA)


End file.
